Waiting for Frankenstorm

Growing up in Miami, we were always bracing for hurricanes.  Remarkably, they are rarer than they seem.  Only a few times were hurricanes serious threats to our home and property, but the devastation from a few direct hits makes repeated precautionary efforts well worth the effort.

As a kid, I loved going hurricane shopping with my parents.  There is something soothing about the productive hum of activity—people with grim faces filling their carts with essentials while the cash registers click and ring with purchases.  It is a sure sign of trouble when store shelves are wiped clean of their stock.  Oddly, there was a unifying force in the threat itself.  People were unusually stoical, even while racing to get theirs before you got yours.   We sprinted for our standard emergency items:  bottled water, batteries, yahrzeit candles (Jewish memorial candles that burn safely in a glass for 24 hours), paper towels, canned soups and fruits (hooray for cling peaches in heavy syrup!), bread, fruit, and peanut butter.  Woe be to the procrastinators or storm deniers; hesitate and you were certain to find yourself without the necessary provisions when the power inevitably ceased.

In New England, hurricanes are not an expected occurrence.  Indigenous New Englanders are equipped to remove several feet of snow in the dead of winter without breaking a sweat, but tropical weather is a challenge of a different sort.  For one thing, during the peak of hurricane season, New England is dominated by the whims of deciduous trees.  Falling leaves are a significant hazard in high winds and heavy rains, clogging rain gutters and adding to the treacherous conditions on flooded roads.   For example, we had our “fall clean up” on Tuesday of last week.  A crew of men came with leaf blowers to gather and remove the fallen leaves from the century oak trees that tower over our house.  By the time my husband returned from work that evening our property was blanketed again with a fresh coating of leaves to the extent that the driveway and the lawn were no longer visible.  Despite the heavy leaf-shed and removal we have already experienced, there is still significant foliage remaining on the trees.

We are also not built for hurricanes.  Every time I see a new home go up in the neighborhood I recall the tank-like construction of homes in South Florida.  I contrast the wooden framing common around here to the laying of concrete blocks that I witnessed when my parents added a room onto our family home.   Of course, in the aftermaths of Hurricanes Andrew and Wilma, it became clear Florida residents weren’t as well fortified as they thought.  Corrupt contractors and inspectors-on-the-take played loose with the South Florida building codes, leaving residents without securely strapped down roofs.

One consolation of hurricanes—whether in the tropics or up here in New England—is that they announce their arrival well before they hit.  We have known for days that a “perfect storm” is on its way, leaving us all feeling a little like sitting ducks.  Right now it’s the calm before the storm.  There is hardly a breath of wind, yet the town is buzzing with excitement.  The parking lots at the local markets and farm stores are packed to capacity.  People are stocking up on food and provisions, remembering all too well the mighty blizzard that occurred on this day a year ago.  It knocked out power for five days.  In that case, the heavy coat of snow fell upon trees that had yet to lose their foliage, crusting them with ice until they could bear the weight no longer, forcing them down across dozens of power lines.  With no electricity we had no heat, yet the biggest challenge to most was not staying warm or cancelling Halloween—it was keeping the computers and cell phones fully charged.

In many areas, storm surges and high winds are so extreme that people are ordered to evacuate.  Strangely, the majority opt to weather it out, refusing to leave their houses and possessions behind even as dangerous flood waters rise.  It turns out it’s not a matter of any port in a storm, but rather, there’s no place like home.